


The Story Never Ends

by Data_Girl_3



Series: The Bohemian Saga [2]
Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Multi, Past Character Death, trigger warnings in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9154051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Data_Girl_3/pseuds/Data_Girl_3
Summary: The Bohemians continue their lives as they attempt to help out a new friend.  However, in doing so, they end up getting seriously involved in a plot devised by a ruthless drug cartel.





	1. Prologue

"NO! You're not gonna do this! I forbid it!"

"Forbid? FORBID! You can't _forbid_ me to do anything, Roger Davis!" Mimi glared at the musician as the two argued down the street.

It had been almost a month since that Christmas Eve, when Mimi had almost died. She had spent the few weeks following that night in a hospital room. Everyone, especially Roger, had insisted on it, to make sure that she wouldn't come that close again. The doctors had finally announced the other day that she was stable enough to leave. Shortly afterwards, Mimi had decided to try and find another job. However, this news wasn't sitting well with Roger.

"I agreed I wouldn't go back to the Cat Scratch, Roger! What more do you want?"

"Mimi, you can't leave the loft! You almost died, last month!"

"You were there! You heard what the doctors said! My T-Cells are still considerably high, considering how long I was on the street." Mimi tried to reason with her boyfriend, but with little luck.

"I don't care what the doctors said. You can't just go out and risk getting sick again."

"Oh, so in other words, you just want me to sit around in the loft, not going out for anything? The way you did for a whole year? I can't do that! You know I couldn't survive like that! You can't tell me to do what you did!"

"Well, excuse me, Mimi, for being such a dumbfu…."

"EXCUSE ME!" A new voice calling out caused the augment to stop, as Roger and Mimi looked around for who had spoken. "Excuse me! Up here!" Looking up, they saw a young Italian  woman with extremely frizzy mousy-brown hair, leaning out of a third story window of the building they had been fighting in front of, currently waving down at them.

"Hi!" The woman called. "Listen, not to be rude, but we've got a little bit of a problem here. You see, I've got a bunch of little kids up here, and I'm trying to get them all to sleep. But it's rather difficult when you two are outside shouting at each other. So, if it's not too much trouble, could you, maybe, take this fight somewhere else, or at east, keep your voices down, and perhaps at a G-rated level? There are some choice words I don't want these kids hearing and possibly repeating, if you know what I mean. If you could do this for me, I'd be eternally grateful. Thank you for your time, and goodnight!"

With that, the woman closed the window and disappeared from sight. Mimi chanced a glance at Roger, and had to giggle, seeing that he was clearly stunned at being practically scolded by a total stranger. A second later, she remembered that she was still annoyed at him and turned to walk off.

"Mimi?" The sound of Roger calling her name in an apologetic tone made the Latina dancer stop and look back. "Listen. I'm sorry. It's just that…. I haven't forgotten what happened on Christmas Eve. I almost lost you. For a moment there, I did. I'm… just scared of going through that again. I know I might have to someday.  Believe me, I do. But... I don't want to deal with it anytime soon. I'm not ready. Not when I just got you back."

"Roger," Mimi sighed as the two held each other close. "The doctors wouldn't have let me leave if they weren't convinced I was all right. All their tests showed my T-Cells count is still high."

"I know. I know."

They stayed the way they were for almost a minute, with Roger occasionally kissing her head.

"Come on," he finally whispered quietly. "Let's go home. Then, we'll discuss you finding a new job."


	2. The Call

_"….Police are still baffled by the sudden disappearance of the fifteen year old girl, the third disappearance in less then a week. They ask anyone who might have any information to contact….."_

A small bit of a news broadcast could be heard from the open window of one of the many passing cars that were moving down Bowery Street, past Little Italy's Broome Street, and a bespectacled young man currently holding an old Bolex camera. Sighing, Mark gave up on looking for something worth filming in this section of town, and began to petal his bike up the street. Ever since finishing _Today For U_ , he had been trying to find something to match it. He had considered making some kind of continuation that would focus on his friends, but they were usually all off doing their own things, now. Still, he had plenty of time to think about it. Since quitting Buzzline, he had nothing but free time on his hands.

As Mark neared the corner, he was so lost in thought he only noticed the car that was pulling out when there was a second to spare. In a panic, he swerved his bike out of the way. However, in doing so, the front wheel got caught in a sewer grate, sending him tumbling onto the curb pretty hard. Before everything in Mark's line of vision was lost to the fog that was quickly overtaking him, he saw the hazy outline of someone standing over him.

"Are you okay?" a worried voice asked, a second before everything went black.

* * *

A discouraged Mimi walked up the stairs to the loft. She had just been to another job interview, but the ordeal had been a disaster, just like all the others. After working at the Cat Scratch for so long, she had been permanently typecast, and all potential employers barely gave her a second glace.

As she entered the loft, she immediately caught sight of Roger, leaning casually against the table. As he saw her walk in, he began to grin in the goofiest manner ever.

"What?" she asked. Instead of replying, he glanced away, the grin never leaving his face. "Why are you smiling like that?" Mimi demanded, getting a little annoyed. When Roger continued to ignore her question, she went off into their room in a huff. Seconds after she closed the door, however, the door opened up again, revealing Roger standing outside the room.

"Collins called a few minutes before you got back," he explained finally. "Apparently, the old dance instructor at NYU is retiring in a few weeks, meaning there's gonna be an opening."

"Roger," Mimi began slowly. "What are you getting at?"

"Collins put in a good word for you with the dean down there. They agreed to try you out for a week. And if they're impressed, then…."

"I got the job?"

"You got the job!"

Mimi let out a squeal and launched herself at Roger, engaging in a full-on lip lock. Making their way to the couch, their hands began to slowly inch lower. Suddenly the phone started to ring. Mimi began to look up, but she was stopped by Roger.

"Let it ring," he begged as his lips traveled to her neck.

"SPPEEEEAAAAAK!"

"Ha! ' _Speak!_ ' I like that! It's good! Really clever!" an unfamiliar voice announced from the answering machine. "Anyway, does anyone there know a… _Rupert, give me that!_ … A Mark Cohen?" Roger and Mimi both looked up immediately.

"Don't worry, I think he'll be okay," the voice on the phone continued.  "But he had a slight accident not too long ago, and hit his head. I know a doctor who does house calls, so he's going to come over to make sure he's okay. I'm just calling to tell you not to worry about him. But I also would feel better if someone came over to escort him home. I wouldn't want him to pass out again trying to go home by himself, you know? So if anyone hears this, you can come collect him in Little Italy, at the corner of Broome and Bowery.  Look for a banner that reads ' _The Center_.'"

Within seconds, Roger and Mimi were out the door.


	3. Emily

"Do you think he's dead?"

"Course not. See? He's moving."

"Maybe it's like that weird thing Miss Emily read about that one time, about how dead ducks continue to move if you cut its head off. You think?"

"Rupert, don't be morbid!"

The sound of distant voices echoed through Mark's head as he slowly regained consciousness. Opening his eyes, he found himself lying in one of many iron cast beds inside a room that had its walls painted up in a bright mural of a park on a sunny afternoon. A small handful of children, whose ages appeared to range from five to eight, were sitting on the bed, watching him intently.

"There, see? He's alive," one of the children, a young girl around the age of seven with strawberry blonde hair, blue-grey eyes, and a small bridge of freckles decorating the bridge of her nose, stated.

"Aw!" an Asian boy frowned. "Jerry and I were about to poke him with a ruler, too." "Where am I?" Mark asked, looking around the unfamiliar surroundings.

"The Center," the freckled girl explained. "You were out for almost two hours. You must have hit your head _real_ good."

The memory of what had happened came flooding back to the filmmaker instantly, accompanied by a slight throbbing pain in his skull.

"Oh, no!  Am I paralyzed?" Mark began to panic when he noticed he couldn't feel his arm, failing to notice that one of the kids was sitting on it.

"If you were parawised, mista," a five year old girl with curly hair pointed out, "You couldn't be movin' your head around like that."

"RAAAH!"

The kids immediately screamed on hearing the shout. From the doorway, an Italian woman who looked to be in her early twenties playfully mimicked their screaming before breaking into a laugh and walking in, ruffling the freckled girl's hair in the process. The newcomer in the room had extremely frizzy mousy brown hair and hazel eyes. She was dressed in a New York Yankees jersey and cargo pants, with a navy blue Yankees cap mounted on her head.

"Well, it's good to see you're awake," she smiled at Mark. "I guess that means you're going be okay." The woman looked over at the children. "Okay, everyone. Mac and Cheese is waiting in the dining hall. Hurry, or it'll be cold before you get there!"

The children immediately hurried out of the room. Once they were gone, the hazel-eyed woman turned back to Mark.

"So, then. How are you feeling? You got yourself quite a bump on the head there."

"Yeah, I can feel that." Mark groaned rubbing the back of his head.

"Just sit tight a bit longer, Mark. I called up a doctor who does house calls a short time ago. He's going be around soon to make sure you didn't get a concussion."

"How… how'd you know my name was…?" The woman responded by holding up a wallet Mark recognized as his own.

"I had to go through it to find some identification, and possibly some emergency contact information. I didn't want any friends or family you might have worrying about you," she explained. "My name's Emily. Emily Goodhall." \

"Hi. Nice to meet you." Mark and Emily shook hands. "So, where are we, anyway?"

"The Center. Think of it as a children home of sorts. I'm sort of the unofficial Assistant Director of Operations here. At least, I _would_ be if it was an actual paying job. We run on funding programs, so all the workers here are volunteers. But I digress."

Before the conversation could continue, an elderly Asian woman poked her head into the room.

"Oh. I see that the young man has decided to join the living, has he?"

"Yes, Nana. Has Dr. Jordan arrived yet?" Emily turned to the old woman.

"Not yet, Emily. I just wanted to see if you remembered to take your blood test?"

"Nana," Emily sighed in exasperation, as she got up and made her way over to a glass cabinet and taking out a blue case of. "I've been taking those blood tests my whole life. You don't think I'd have made it a habit by now?"

"I know. I just wanted to make sure you didn't let it slip your mind, what with the arrival of our guest."

"Mark, this is Nana Chang, The Center's founder, and an old friend of my mother," Emily introduced.

"You forgot to include your caretaker in that resume, Emily." Nana scolded in good nature.

"Nana, since I'm no longer a minor, I don't need a caretaker anymore."

"Oh, so I guess that means I'm just a worthless old crone no one wants around, then."

"Nana!" Emily exclaimed. "Stop putting words in my mouth, please. You _know_ I didn't mean it like that."

"Oh, I know," Nana smiled. "I may not be your actual mother, Emily, but I still reserve the right to uphold motherly duties over you. That includes messing with your head every now and then."

"Aw, go watch for Dr. Jordan, Nana! You know I hate big audiences for this!" Emily brandished the case in her hand.

Once Nana had left, Emily once again took a seat next to Mark's bed.

"So, what blood test was Nana talking about?" Mark asked in curiosity before being seized by a horrible thought. "You… you don't have HIV, do you."

"Why?" Emily looked over with a bemused expression. "Do you?"

"No. But… some of my closest friends have HIV. One of them died a few months ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. But, in answer to your question, last I checked, I was HIV negative. Even so, that's not the only disease or disorder you can have. Take me, for example. I've got IDDM."

"IDD… what's that?" 

"IDDM.  Insulin Dependent Diabetes Mellitus."

"You're diabetic?"

"Since birth. That's what the blood test's for." Emily shrugged as she went about taking a blood glucose test. "I've got to monitor the amount of sugar in my blood. If it gets too high, for instance, I could go into hyperglycemic shock, and possibly die.

"I like your camera, by the way. 16mm Bolex, right?" Emily asked, changing the subject while pointing at the table next to the bed, where his camera and bike.

"Yeah! You know about cameras?"

"Yes and no. I don't really know much about _movie_ cameras. However, I've got a Nikon FM2 downstairs. I'm… something of a nature photographer. Only amateur, at best, but still…"

"And you're a Yankees fan?" Mark questioned, eyeing Emily's wardrobe choice.

"Oh, good! I was worried people wouldn't get the message!" Emily joked, as the two shared a laugh. "My brother, Zack, used to take me to Yankees games all the time when I was a kid, so I grew up with them."

"Ah, so _here's_ the patient in question!" A middle aged man suddenly walked into the room.

"Dr. Jordan!" Emily waved as she gave up her seat for the doctor. "Thanks for stopping by."

"Any time, Miss Goodhall. You don't have my number on speed-dial for nothing, after all. Although, I never thought I'd ever come down here for anyone over four feet. Now, let's see how you're doing, Mr.…"

"Mark Cohen." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't claim to know much about diabetes, but I tried to do some research on it before writing this, so hopefully I got the information accurately represented here. Also, if anyone hasn't figured it out yet, or if you were wondering: Yes, Emily is the same frizzy-haired woman from the prologue. Sorry if she might come off as a Mary Sue right now: just wait- her character development is coming up fairly soon.


	4. The Center's Purpose

"Okay, this _is_ the place that person on the phone said Mark was, right?" Roger eyed the small horde of children that were racing around the room.

"Well, try asking someone," Mimi suggested.

"Like who? Look at this place. All kids, no adults!" Roger sighed as he stopped a random kid who was running by with a whistle in his mouth. "Hey, kid! Where's a grown-up we can talk to?" The kid stared blankly up at Roger before replying in nothing but a short blow into his whistle and hurrying off. "Hey! Come on!" Roger groaned, scowling at Mimi when she started to laugh.

"You're pretty!" a voice stated. Looking down, they saw a strawberry-blond haired, freckled face girl smiling up at Mimi.

"Thank you," Mimi smiled back at the girl. "Could you help us? We're looking for our friend."

"Oh! You must the friends of the guy on the bike!" the little girl grinned. "This way. He's upstairs with Emily and Dr. Jordan now."

Roger and Mimi followed the girl up a flight of stairs and down a hallway, coming to a room where Mark was sitting on the edge of a bed, with Dr. Jordan shining a small light into his eyes.

"Mark!" Roger said as he and Mimi walked in. "Are you okay?

" "He'll be fine," Dr. Jordan announced. "Good news, Mr. Cohen. You don't have a concussion. You're very lucky."

"Thanks again for stopping by, Dr. Jordan," Emily thanked the doctor for the second time, this time from a stool in the corner.

"No problem whatsoever, Miss Goodhall. Call me again anytime." With that, the doctor left the room.

"How'd you guys know where I was?" Mark turned to his friends.

"Someone called the loft and told us you had an accident," Mimi explained.

"Oh, so I _did_ call the right number, good!" Emily beamed, pulling up her pant leg and rubbing an alcohol swab on her skin above the knee. "I was worried I'd called the wrong place. Once again, I love your voice mail. I'll say it again, it's really clever."

"Guys, this is Emily. Emily, these are my friends, Roger and Mimi."

"Hello to both of you," Emily nodded in acknowledgment before taking something about of the blue case she was still holding.

"What's that?" Roger froze, looking at the object in shock. When Mark looked over, he saw Emily was holding a syringe, and instantly realized that Roger was forming his own conclusions about its purpose.

"Roger, it's okay," Mark assured quickly. "It's not the type of needle you're probably thinking about. Emily explained to me before you got here. She has diabetes. That's one of her insulin shots."

"Insulin?" Roger instantly began to relax.

"Yeah, what did you think it was?" Emily cast a puzzled look at the three friends as she deposited the now emptied insulin needle into an orange canister. Mark suddenly gave Roger and Mimi an uneasy glance, wondering if he should mention it to Emily so soon. Noticing this, Roger gave a quick nod, nonverbally giving his best friend permission.

"Well," Mark began slowly. "Roger and Mimi, here. They… used to be junkies. Roger's been clean for over two years now, and Mimi is on her way to becoming clean. But, well, Roger has very little patience for people who still use heroin."

"Oh. So they were both heroin addicts," Emily nodded in understanding.  Without another word, she began packing things away in the blue case, showing no sign of saying anything further on the matter.

"Wait, you're just leaving the subject there?" Mimi blinked in surprise.

"I don't think I understand the question, Mimi."

"Well, usually, when someone finds out that Roger and I were on smack,…"

"You're asking me why I'm not treating you two like a couple of lepers, am I right?" Emily chuckled. "Truthfully, the way I see it, who am I to judge? That's God's job.

"And in addition," Emily continued, turning to Roger. "You don't have to worry about me going down _that_ way, Roger, I can assure you of that. For starters, I'm still diabetic. Insulin is not exactly cheap, you know. After the insulin, and other daily necessities, I really don't have enough money to spend on things like that."

Mark, meanwhile had started to move off the bed and started collecting his bike and camera.

"Thanks again for your help, Emily. I appreciate it," Mark stated.

"It was no trouble at all, Mark. But you'll have to excuse me, now. Since your friends are here, and Dr. Jordan said you're fine, I need to get back to my duties here. You understand, right?"

"Yes, of course."

Mark, Roger and Mimi followed Emily to the entry room, where the kids were still racing around.

"Well, then. I guess I'll see you around, maybe," Emily waved as the three friends moved toward the door. As they were about to leave however, the freckled face girl who had helped Roger and Mimi find Mark hurried up.

"Emily!" she cried, looking distressed about something.

"Penny, what's wrong?"

"It's Sammy! He's tripped and fallen in the playroom! He's skinned his knee!"

"Quick, Penny, get the first aid equipment!" Emily ordered as she hurried out of the room. After a momentary pause, Mark, Roger and Mimi followed after her. Once in the playroom, they instantly saw a handful of kids standing near a six-year-old boy, who was currently clutching at his bleeding knee in pain.

"Hey, it's that kid with the whistle!" Roger realized, recognizing the boy as the one he'd tried to ask for help earlier.

"Yes. Sammy's a mute, so sometimes he uses his whistle to communicate," Emily explained, turning as the girl she had called Penny raced in and handed her a tin crate labeled _'First Aid Supplies_ '. But as Emily started to go up to tend to Sammy, she saw Mark moving down to look at the bleeding knee.

"MARK, DON'T TOUCH HIM!" Emily shouted, causing the filmmaker to jump. Emily quickly knelt next to Sammy, gently but firmly pushing Mark aside in the process, and opened up the tin box, removing a box of examination gloves. Only once her hands were protected by a pair of gloves did she start to tend to the wound, making a clearly conscious effort to avoid physical contact with the boy's blood.

And then, Mark understood why Emily had freaked out when she had seen him trying to help Sammy. Looking up at Roger and Mimi, he could see in their faces that they realized it too.

Sammy was HIV positive.

* * *

As soon as Sammy's wound had been properly treated and he had hobbled off to the Center's bedroom upstairs, with two other boys helping him along, Mark followed Emily to a small sink that was positioned in the corner of the room, where she began thoroughly scrubbing her hands.

"Emily? That boy, Sammy? He…." Mark paused before continuing. "He's HIV positive, isn't he."

"Yes. He is." Emily replied after a brief hesitation. "Him and half the children here. That's why The Center exists. Oh, sure, we do get the occasional teen pregnancy child, whose parents did not want a child, or couldn't afford one.  But for the most part, this place is more or less a dumping ground for the children no one wants. Children who are born HIV positive, or born with drug addictions."

"And you take care of them all?" Mimi asked, clearly stunned and touched.

"And why not? Someone's got to do it, and if not me, who?"

"But… you're really not afraid you'll get AIDS from one of them?'

"Truthfully Mimi? I'm a little more afraid of getting something like Tuberculosis. HIV isn't all that easy to get, after all, and I make an effort to take necessary precautions, as you saw a few minutes ago."

"All right, there's something I don't understand," Roger began. "You take care of these kids, knowing full well that they wouldn't be _in_ the position they're in now if their parents hadn't gotten messed up in drugs, or gotten AIDS, in the first place.  And yet, you _still_ won't judge the parents?"

"Many people look at drug addicts and say they shouldn't have started, that they are just stupid people who brought it all on themselves," Emily explained. "As for me, I only wonder what made them start. Was it because a friend got them on drugs and they trusted the friend, following the understanding that friends, by learned definition, never lead you astray?  Was it because they were simply curious and obeyed basic human instinct to test curiosity?  Or is it because their life was so horrible, they'd be willing to do anything to escape the pain and sadness they felt. Either way, fault rarely lies with one person alone. It's usually a domino effect, one in which you could very easily get to the point when a bit of the blame lies with everyone on Earth. And you'd quickly become a very disagreeable person if you did that.

"As for the bit about HIV and AIDS...." Emily trailed off, and momentarily fingered a silver heart locket that hung around her neck. "AIDS, like many other illnesses, does not discriminate. No one goes out into the world asking for something like that. No one." Once again, Emily quietly fiddled with her locket.

"On that note," she stated quickly, "I _really_ need to get back to my duties."

"Okay," Mark nodded.

Once they were outside, Roger spoke again.

"I still can't believe that girl is so willing to take care of all those kids!"

"Yeah, maybe," Mark shrugged. "It's just that… I don't know. I might have imagined it, but she seemed to get hesitant to continue talking when the subject came to AIDS."

"Well, Mark, don't forget," Mimi pointed out sadly. "She's surrounded by kids who have it all day. A lot of those kids might not make it to their tenth birthday."

"That's true," Mark nodded. "But somehow, I got the feeling it might be more than that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go, and it's the end of part one, and the beginning of part two, in which the plot begins to pick up.


	5. Handcuffs and Italian Food

Mark, Roger, and Mimi sat waiting in the loft. Collins, Maureen and Joanne were supposed to be stopping by any minute in order for the six of them to spend an evening at The Life, a practice that had became a sacred tradition for them all. However, they all were about five minutes late.

"Seriously, where are those guys?" Mark asked, beginning to pace.

"Easy, Mark," Roger looked up from the couch where he was sitting with Mimi perched on his lap. "You know how girls are." This earned him a sharp slap over the head from Mimi. "Ow! I was just kidding, baby!" Mimi grinned, before leaning in to kiss him.

"Well, if they don't get here soon, there might not be enough seats at the Life for six people," Mark pointed out. "

Seven," Mimi corrected. "Seven people."

"Come again, Meems?" Roger looked over at his girlfriend.

"I stopped by The Center earlier," Mimi smiled. "I thought it would be nice to invite Emily to join us tonight, to thank her for helping Mark when he almost got himself killed last week." Roger couldn't help but grin at this. Typical Mimi. She was always the one to reach out to new people, determined to make as many friends as possible.

Seconds later, Maureen and Joanne finally entered the loft, the former practically bouncing out of her skin abut something.

"Guys, this is really amazing!" she squealed. "I saw a special on TV last night about learning magic tricks at home! I need you to help me test out the first trick I learned!"

"Maureen, I told you. You can't just master a trick like this in less then a day," Joanne sighed, ever the rationalist.

"Oh, come on, don't be a spoilsport," Maureen pouted before turning back to the others. "Say you'll be my volunteers! _Pleasepleasepleaseplease_ ….?"

"Okay, okay!" Mark cried, if nothing but to calm her down. "What kind of trick?"

* * *

"Wonderful trick, Maureen," Roger scowled twenty minutes later. All five of them were handcuffed together. Maureen was trying one last time to wiggle her hand out of her handcuff, but to no avail.

"Guys I'm so sorry!" Maureen apologized as she finally gave up. "I could have _sworn_ these were the right handcuffs!"

At that moment the phone started to ring. However, since they were also inconveniently handcuffed to the lamp as well, none of them could reach the phone.

" _SPPEEEEAAAAAK!_ "

"Um, hey guys. It's Collins. Listen, do you think you guys could, uh, come down to the station for me? I'm in a little bit of trouble. I… kinda need you guys to bail me out of jail here. Please don't ask questions; I'll explain everything when I get out of here. Thanks."

"Nice job, Maureen," Roger growled again. "Next time, bring the da-n keys, okay?"

"Mer-ci-ful heavens!" The friends all looked over to the window to see Emily standing on the windowsill, staring at them all, stunned. "What… did you guys _do_?"

"Emily?" Mark blinked. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, Mimi came to The Center this afternoon, asking if I wanted to join you on your trip to The Life Café tonight. I figured it was that or a TV dinner. I would have been here sooner, but Rupert and Jerry thought it would be… _amusing_ to set a bunch of frogs loose in the building. It took ages to round them all up."

"How'd you get up here?" Joanne asked.

"I found an old umbrella in a pile of garbage outside," Emily explained. "Since I couldn't get through the front door without a key, I had to use that to pull down the fire escape ladder. Now it's _your_ turn to answer some questions. For starters, what happened to you guys?"

"Maureen," Roger grumbled, pointing to the drama queen," got the _wonderful_ idea of getting into magic tricks."

"Oh!" Emily nodded in dawning understanding. "You mean the thing, with the handcuffs, and the cloth, the hand waving, and the trick latch thing?"

"Yes," Joanne sighed. "Except _someone_ mixed up the trick handcuffs with _real_ ones."

"I said I was sorry!" Maureen huffed. "What more do you want from me?"

"Emily, listen," Mark began. "Could you, by any chance, go and try to find a locksmith to come over and help us out?"

"Don't have to," Emily smiled as she reached up into her hair and removed a bobby pin. She bent down next to the bound-together group and inserted the bobby pin into one of the handcuff locks, twisting the small length of wire around. Seconds later, the handcuff opened with a click."

"How'd you do that?" Joanne asked, clearly impressed.

"Lucky for you guys," Emily stated, moving on to another lock, "I happen to have a bit of experience with handcuffs." Suddenly, Emily froze, and began to chuckle, a definite blush appearing in her cheeks, apparently realizing that her words could easily be taken the wrong way.

"I don't mean like _that_ ," she laughed nervously. "My brother, Zack, was a cop. So naturally, he worked with handcuffs all the time. He insisted on teaching me everything that could help me get out of every sticky situation imaginable, and even some that were unimaginable. Picking locks was one of his first lessons."

As Emily finished her narrative, she managed to open the final handcuff. Rubbing his wrists in an attempt to get the circulation back into his hands, Mark introduced Emily to Maureen and Joanne.

"Mark, come on!" Mimi stated. "Collins is still waiting for us!"

"Oh, right," Mark nodded. "Emily, do you mind waiting here for a bit? Our friend called up before you got here. We gotta help bail him out of jail."

"Oh. Sure, no problem, but, how'd he get into jail in the first place, if you don't mind me asking?"

"With Collins, you never can be sure. We'll be back soon," Mark shrugged as he left with the others.

Once they were gone, Emily began to look around the Loft with an appraising eye.

"Hmm. Spacious," Emily commented, before glancing over at the stove with a raised eyebrow. A smile slowly crept onto her face.

* * *

"You were stealing animals?" Joanne muttered incredulously as the six friends walked up the street to The Life as Collins filled them all in on his latest escapade. It had taken almost an hour and a half to get past all the legal work, but finally, mostly thanks to Joanne, they had managed to get Collins released.

"It was an animal testing facility," Collins defended. "It wasn't stealing. It was liberating."

"Man, why didn't you invite us along?" Roger playfully scolded.

"Next time, Rog. Promise."

"Oh, come _on_!" Maureen pouted as they reached The Life. The restaurant was completely deserted, and the door was locked tight. "I can't believe they're closed! I'm hungry!"

"Well, I guess it's cold leftover pizza tonight," Mimi sighed.

"Just one question, guys," Collins began as the bohemians began to head back to the loft. "What took you so long to get down there to bail me out?"

As they began to fill the anarchist in on Maureen's failed magic trick, Mark suddenly went as stiff as a board, a horrified look on his face.

"OH, NO!" he cried.

"Mark, what happened?"

"Emily! I just remembered! She's been alone in the Loft this whole time!"

"Aw, sh-t!" Roger hissed as they began to race back home.

When they finally reached the large sliding door that lead to the Loft, however, they were greeted by a strong garlicky smell that was wafting its way out through the small cracks between the door and the wall. After sharing a confused look, they opened the door, just in time to see Emily place a serving tray of fresh-baked breadsticks on the center of the large metal table.

"Oh, good! Perfect timing!" she grinned upon seeing them. "Dinner is served!"

"Emily, what's this?" Maureen gaped as the bohemians stared at the seven plates arranged neatly around the table, each containing a generous portion of tortellini covered in light orange sauce.

"Well," Emily shrugged. "I thought that, since you were using your money to help bail your friend out of jail, you might not have enough left over to buy a substantial meal. So I thought I'd help out by making you something instead.

"You can _cook_?"

"Don't insult me! I happen to be part Italian. Cooking's in my blood. And don't forget that I have to take care of children every day. Knowing how to cook is something of a requirement."

"Wow, that smells good." Collins noted, eyeing the dish. "What is it?"

"One of my specialties. Three cheese tortellini in rosé vodka sauce, with sautéed mushrooms and fresh-baked breadsticks." The others all had to fight back a laugh. They knew Emily had Collins at 'vodka sauce'.

"It's a big hit at the Center," Emily continued. "All the children love it. And I figured, if they love it, then maybe you'd enjoy it, too. None of you are allergic to dairy, I hope." Emily suddenly frowned, as if fearing that someone was.

"Oh, no, no one has food allergies here," Mark assured her.

"Good, because one of the ingredients is heavy cream, Well, come on, then; it's best when eaten warm."

No one needed to be told twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the end of 'part one.' The plot picks up in the next chapter. Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think so far.


	6. Marble Cemetery

It was a bright March morning, at the point in time when the snow had ended for another year, but it was not considered spring yet. The New York City Marble Cemetery was all but deserted, apart from the six individuals who were walking across the grounds. Each Bohemian was holding a single rose. While everyone was rather somber this morning, Roger couldn't help but feel particularly uncomfortable about the situation. The last time he had been here, it hadn't exactly gone very well, and had ended with him running off to Santa Fe for an entire month. Now, he felt almost ashamed to come back here. Mimi, who was walking next to him, seemed to sense his unease, and gave his hand a comforting squeeze, and a supporting smile.

After what seemed like an eternity, they had arrived at a gravestone. Angel's gravestone. It had been less then five months since she had died, and that day still was hard for them to think about. Whoever had said that the first year was always the hardest was not kidding. One by one, they each stepped forward to say a silent prayer to their lost friend. When everyone was finished, they placed the roses they were holding at the base of Angel's grave. Collins was the last to go up, and no one was surprised when he took the longest.

As Collins finally rejoined his friends, Mimi happened to glance over to the other gravestones in the distance. A confused frown appeared on her face.

"E…Emily?" she whispered. Hearing this, the Bohemians all followed Mimi's gaze. A fair distance away from where they were all standing, there was a person kneeling in front of a gravestone, placing a white rose at the base. Even from this distance, there was no mistaking that frizzy mousy-brown hair partially concealed under the Yankees cap. As they watched, Emily got up, and, after lovingly patting the top of the gravestone, walked off alone. Mimi was the first to start heading over to the grave Emily had just visited, the others soon repeating her example. As soon as they had reached it, Mimi quickly read the words carved into the stone face, her eyes growing wide as she did so.

_Zachary Goodhall_

_1961-1982_

_Loving Brother and Mentor_

"Emily's brother!" Mark realized, remembering how their friend had mentioned him. "Why didn't we ever realize?" Mimi asked, to no one in particular. "Why did it never occur to us that she referred to him in past tense? Why didn't she tell us that her brother was dead? I just figured that he didn't live in the city."

"1982," Collins read the date of death. "He was only twenty-one."

"How'd you think it happened?" Maureen wondered.

"Emily told us he was a cop," Joanne remembered. "I suppose it's possible he was killed on the job. Think about it; that would explain why Emily never spoke of it. Imagine that your brother went off to work one morning, with both of you expecting him to be home for dinner, like always. But on that night, he doesn't come home."

"Do you think," Maureen began after a long pause, "that she'd want a bit of company?"

"Yeah, maybe," Mark nodded. "You guys coming?"

"I'd like to," Joanne sighed. "But I have to be in court tomorrow, and I need to go over my files."

"And I have a test to prepare for Friday," Collins noted. "Not to mention how Mimi's dance class starts in an hour, so we were going to head to school together."

"You three go," Mimi concluded.  "We'll catch up to you all later."

The bohemians then went their separate ways, with Mimi giving Roger a quick kiss on the cheek before hurrying off after Collins.

* * *

Maureen, Mark and Roger caught up to Emily about fifteen minutes later, just as she was entering an electronics shop.

"Oh!" Emily smiled upon seeing them. "It's you guys! How've you been?"

"Never mind us. How about you?" Maureen asked, going right for the throat of the subject.

"We saw you at Marble Cemetery a few minutes ago," Mark explained. The smile on Emily's face faded, and she began to fiddle with her locket.

"Oh. So, you know about Zack, then, huh?" she muttered, avoiding eye contact.

"Why didn't you tell us he died?"

"I just didn't think it was the type of thing I was supposed to run through the streets shouting out about," Emily shrugged, a hint of a defensive tone in her voice. "Besides, he's dead, isn't he? There's nothing anyone can do about it, right?" "

I know, but...we understand how it feels to lose someone we care about."

"No offense, guys. But I don't feel much like talking about it right now, okay?"

"I understand," Mark nodded.

The smile instantly returned to Emily's face as she sensed the subject being dropped.  Without another word, she walked up to the clerk at a counter.

"Ah, Miss Goodhall, back again, I see," the clerk greeted as she looked up. She was obviously a frequent customer here.

"Hi, Mr. Scott. Have my slides came in yet?"

"Yes, they have," Mr. Scott handed Emily a manila folder. "You managed to get some good ones this time, if you don't mind me saying so."

"You're a shameless flatter, Mr. Scott. Has anyone over told you that?" Emily scoffed, waving off the praise 

"Say, that reminds me. Did you hear back from that photography school, yet?"

"Um," Emily winced in response. "Yeah. They tuned me down. Again."

"They _didn't!_ " Mr. Scott looked genuinely shocked. "Don't tell me they weren't impressed by your work?"

"The portfolio's not the problem," Emily stated as she tucked the manila folder under her arm. "It's my lack of paid job experience. Volunteering full time at The Center just isn't enough to impress most people these days, sadly."

"Keep trying, Miss Goodhall," Mr. Scott called after Emily as she turned to walk off, with Mark, Maureen and Roger going with her. "You'll find someone who values integrity over money, I'm sure of it."

"So, what's in the folder?" Mark inquired as they left the shop together.

"Remember that I mentioned I was something of a nature photographer?" Emily asked. "These are some of my shots."

"OOOHH!" Maureen squealed. "Can we see?" Emily, after a moment's hesitation, removed a sheet of 35mm slides and handed them to her friends, seemingly reluctant.

"Hey, Mr. Scott's right, Emily!" Mark complemented as he scanned over the images encased in the slides, which included a tree branch containing buds that were just beginning to open, a ladybug resting upon a blade of grass, and a spider web coated with rain droplets . "These are great!"

"You can't tell me no one has tried to snatch you up!" Maureen agreed. "Unfortunately, they don't think I've had enough experience in the field," Emily sighed. "Working at the Center isn't enough to convince these people I can do the job. They want someone who has an actual _salary_."

"Hey, Rog, look at these!" Mark called, still engrossed in Emily's slides. "Rog?" The three looked back to see Roger standing in front of the television sets on display in the front window, looking as if he'd seen a ghost. When they walked over to join him, they saw he was watching a live news broadcast that was being shown on one of them.

"A police officer, who refused to disclose his name, stated that this latest killing is thought to be connected to the numerous disappearances that have plagued the city since the beginning of the year. In addition, it appears to be identical to the work of the once infamous Rat Fang Gang, who once terrorized the streets of Downtown Manhattan almost ten years ago. The question remains if this is the same group or a copycat gang. The identity of the victim, who was found in an ally near East Fourth Street and Second Avenue a short time ago, is not known at this time, but bystanders say they recognize the girl as someone who once worked at a local S&M club, known as The Cat Scratch Club…"

"No," Roger moaned in a barely audible whisper before turning and racing down the street, his friends close behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger. Please don't hate me for it.


	7. The Rat Fang Gang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because these next two chapters are relatively short, I'm posting both at the same time. Hope you enjoy them.

As Roger ran through the streets, he barely noticed how all sound had seemed to completely die, as if he had been dropped into a cone of silence. Even his vision had grown blurry around the edges, as it threatened to fail him, too. It was if time itself had stopped, and he was the only one who had escaped the clock's binding chains.

It couldn't be her! Oh, please, no, not again! He shouldn't have left her side. He should have kissed her longer before going after Emily. He should of...oh, God, _please!_ Not again!

He had no idea how long he'd been running, but the second he saw the police barrier around the crime scene, all sound came rushing back so fast, it made his ears hurt. There was a large stitch in his side as well. But none of that mattered.

"Roger, wait!" Mark cried as he, Maureen and Emily finally managed to catch up. The musician, however, refused to listen to his best friend and strode forward. One of the cops moving around the scene took notice of Roger and moved into his path.

"I'm sorry, son, but I'm afraid you can't come in here."

"Out of my way!" Roger snarled, trying to push the cop out of the way, or at least get a glimpse of her, panic beginning to overtake him.

"Roger, please!" Mark begged. "We don't know anything yet!"

"LET ME SEE! GET OUT OF MY WAY!"

Roger and the cop were practically trying to outmuscle each other at this point. At that moment, two medics pushed a gurney out of the alleyway, the body lying atop it completely covered. The second he saw this, Roger's legs gave way.

"No," he whispered, the tears finally starting to flow. "Oh, please, no. This isn't happening."

"Roger," Mark's hand dropped onto his shoulder, only to be swatted away roughly.

"Don't touch me!" Roger growled.

"Roger, listen!" Mark repeated.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Roger." The last voice that called his name made Roger's heart stop instantly. Once again, his ears registered no sound. Slowly, he finally looked up, taking an eternity to turn around. The sight waiting for him resulted in his breath getting caught in his throat.

Mimi.

For the longest time, Roger remained on his knees, staring at his beautiful Latina dancer who was standing there, taking in everything. Her hair, her lips, those wonderful brown eyes that he adored, everything to convince himself that she was really there and that he wasn't just imagining it. Finally, the feeling in his legs returned.  In one quick movement, he was on his feet, enclosing Mimi into his arms tightly.

"Mimi! Oh, baby!" he gasped. "Thank God! I was so scared! _So scared!_ " Roger inhaled her scent deeply, as if he was determined to make this moment last for all time, the tears still falling from his cheeks and getting caught in her hair. Only this time, they were tears of sheer joy. "Mimi, I love you!"

"Mimi, do you know who that was?" Mark asked as Roger repeatedly continued to stroke her hair and kiss her forehead in relief.

"It's Madison," Mimi replied softly. "She'd just started working at the Cat Scratch when I left. The moment I saw it on the news, I had to come over to see who it was."

As the medics started to place Madison's body into the ambulance, the sheet that covered her got tangled up in the spoke of the gurney wheel.  As a result, the cloth that covered the body was pulled halfway down, revealing that the girl's face and body were horribly slashed, with blood everywhere.

"Emily!" Maureen cried suddenly. "Are you okay?"

Looking over at Emily, the friends saw that she was staring at the gurney, her face deathly pale.  She was shaking like crazy, and looked like she was about to be sick. Before anyone could do anything, Emily's eyes rolled back into her head, and she fainted on the spot.

"Emily!" Mark and Maureen quickly knelt down to check up on their friend.

"Step aside!" The cop who had stopped Roger earlier instructed, looking down at Emily in concern as he crouched down to check her pulse.

* * *

Shortly afterward, Mark, Roger, Mimi and Maureen were standing by in a hospital room, Emily still unconscious on the nearby cot. The cop, who had introduced himself as Officer Kurtz was also present.  He had personally escorted them all down to the hospital and had insisted on waiting with them while they waited for the doctors.  As they waited, he had calmly interviewed Mimi, on account of her knowing Madison, asking if she'd knew of anyone who might have wanted to do her harm.

As the interview concluded, Dr. Jordan entered the room.

"Mr. Cohen," Dr. Jordan began, recognizing the filmmaker from his house call a few months back. "Could you please tell me what happened to Miss Goodhall?" Mark quickly explained the story of what had happened at the crime scene.

"...And Emily, she was just standing there, looking like she was going to throw up, and then…" Mark's words trailed off when Dr. Jordan held up a hand, indicating silence.

"Thank you, Mr. Cohen," Dr. Jordan nodded. "There is no need to say anything more. Wait here." Dr. Jordan stepped out of the room and returned soon afterward, this time holding a glass bottle labeled ' _ammonium carbonate_ '. After unscrewing the cap off the bottle, the doctor gently swept the mouth of the bottle under Emily's nose. Emily instantly inhaled and her eyes snapped open. Groaning, she slowly sat up, rubbing at her temple.

"Miss Goodhall," Dr. Jordan announced, turning towards the bohemians, "has a rather strong case of hemophobia, the fear of blood. Just the sight of it....well, I trust you all saw what happened." Emily made a small noise at this point, and Dr. Jordan gave her an understanding look. "I've told you before, Miss Goodhall, it's nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. A lot of people are hemophobics.

"Now, you'll have to excuse me." Dr. Jordan continued,turning to leave the room with a grim expression now on his face. "I sadly an autopsy to go perform."

"Okay then, let's have it." Emily looked over at her friends once Dr. Jordan had left. "Go ahead and tell me that I'm pathetic, loosing it like that."

"Hey, it's okay, Emily," Mark assured. "Dr. Jordan' right. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Excuse me, everyone," Officer Kurtz interrupted, announcing his presence. "But I would like a private word with Miss Goodhall. Could you all step into the hall for a minute?"

"Why?" Roger asked suspiciously.  "What could you possibly say to her that you can't say in front of us?"

"It's okay, guys," Emily spoke up, her gaze focused on Officer Kurtz.  "Give us a minute, okay?"

Reluctantly, the Bohemians obeyed, but as soon as the door had closed behind them, they immediately started eavesdropping.

"Officer Kurtz, I heard the news broadcast," Emily's voice said. " _Is_ it the Rat Fang Gang again?"

"At the present time, Miss Goodhall, we don't know anything," Officer Kurtz replied. "But it certainly looks like they've come back. That's why I think you'll understand why I'm asking you to…"

"Officer Kurtz!" Emily sounded panicked now. "I can't leave the city! The children at the Center need me! And I _can't_ leave Penny, you know I can't! You can't just ask me to abandon them!"

"Miss Goodhall, if the Rat Fangs _have_ indeed returned, you have to understand that you might not be safe for much longer. I can't offer you police protection twenty-four seven. We all have other things to see to."

"I'm staying," Emily insisted.

"Miss Goodhall, be reasonable!" Officer Kurtz repeated, this time sounding deeply concerned for the girl. "Zack wouldn't have wanted his sister staying in the city where she might no longer be safe."

"Zack wouldn't have run off to save his skin. He'd have stayed and continued to look after me, regardless of the danger he might have been in. So _you_ must understand why I can't just go off to a place that's safe, and leave those children behind, leave _Penny_ behind. You can't tell me to agree to being taken off to a safe place outside the city, Officer Kurtz. Because not only would I spend the whole time worrying about Penny, for starters, but _they_ also would find me, no matter where I go. If they decide to come after me, no city border will stop them. They'll track me down no matter where I go, or have you forgotten my mom and dad? There _is_ no safe place from the Rat Fang Gang. I'm staying."

"You realize that if they find you…"

"That just means I'll be reunited with my family sooner rather then later." A long sigh from Officer Kurtz was heard.

"Lord be with you, Miss Goodhall."

Upon hearing Officer Kurtz heading for the door, the eavesdropping Bohemians all jumped back to keep from getting caught.  When he entered the hallway, Officer Kurtz bid goodbye to the four friends before leaving the hospital.

"What was _that_ about?" Maureen whispered.

"I don't know." Mark replied, glancing into the room where Emily was out of bed and getting her things together to leave. "But we can't ask her. Remember, we weren't supposed to have heard all that."


	8. Ice Breaker

On a subway car, the bohemians all sat in silence. Occasionally, they chanced a nervous glance at Emily, who was staring aimlessly out into space.  They wondered if she was more scared then she was letting on. If what Officer Kurtz had said was true, and the Rat Fang Gang was intending to find her for reasons unknown to them, then would Emily manage to escape them? All things considered, she might end up just like Madison.

Maureen couldn't believe how calm and unfazed Emily was acting about all this. If she was in this situation, with a murdering street gang possibly out to get her, she'd be panicking like crazy. Emily, however, looked like she was just waiting for the results on a college final.

"Roger?" The bohemians couldn't help but jump slightly. This was the first time Emily had spoken since leaving the hospital twenty minutes ago. "Are you doing okay, now? You kind of freaked out on us when you saw that stuff on the news."

"Of course I did," Roger nodded, pulling Mimi closer to him. "That could have been Mimi they were talking about."

"The news lady said that it was someone from an S&M club, though." Emily pointed out. The others exchanged glances. No one had ever told Emily about Mimi's original job.

"Well, yeah," Mimi replied finally. Emily looked at the faces of her friends, trying to read them, then suddenly began to chuckle.

"Okay, I _have_ to know," Emily turned to Mimi. "How'd you manage to do that? Get up in front of thousands of strangers and do… _that?_ That's got to take lot of guts!"

"You mean, you're _impressed?_ " Maureen asked.

"Of course! Look at me.  I get a little uncomfortable changing in front of my pet potbellied pig, Wenceslas.  But Mimi on the other hand?  Oh, wow!  Man, I wish I could be _that_ fearless."

Mark noticed Maureen looked like she was about to point out how cool Emily was acting with the whole Rat Fang situation, and quickly nudged her.

"We didn't hear all that, remember?" he reminded in a low whisper. Maureen nodded, but still couldn't forget the things they had heard when Emily had been talking with Officer Kurtz.

It hadn't been that long ago since they had lost Angel. How could they possibly cope if they lost Emily as well, especially when the photographer had started to became a part of their extended family only recently? However, when she continued to watch Emily, who was now talking and laughing with Mimi about random things, she started to wonder if this was how Emily was staying so cool while her life could possibly be at stake- by finding something, anything, that could distract her, and just push it to the very back of her mind for the time being.

Maureen suddenly remembered something her mother had told her once when she had been waiting anxiously for her high school report card to come in the mail: ' _Worrying about something that's no longer in your hands won't change the ultimate outcome. Sometimes, all you can do is wait and hope for the best._ '

Maureen had always been the excitable one, flying off the handle at the drop of a hat. But when she thought about it now, she had to admit that, at times, there was wisdom in her mother's words.

'No day but today.' Maureen reminded herself as the subway car came to their stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I know these two chapters were short. But the plot is starting to pick up a bit.


	9. When it Rains, it Pours

A week had gone by since the infamous conversation between Emily and Officer Kurtz. Mark and the others had filled Collins and Joanne in on what they had heard after Emily had returned to the Center. Naturally, they were both stunned, but eventually, they had all agreed that the best thing to do was to just be there for their friend, and hope she would eventually tell them the whole story.

On this day, they had set the whole day aside to visit her at the Center. When they arrived, Emily was standing in the doorway of a room, watching the children of the Center play. There was a faraway look on her face.

"Emily? What's wrong?" Mimi asked, immediately noticing the uneasy expression on the photographer's face. Emily took a moment to reply.

"Come with me," she invited finally.

Emily led the bohemians through The Center and up a flight of stairs, where they came to a door with a large wooden 'E' covered in blue paint nailed to it. Emily opened the door and led them into the room that obviously was where she lived. It was about the size of an average second grade classroom. In one corner, a wooden divider served as a makeshift wall that shielded an iron cast bed, like the ones that were in the children's dorm, from the sun that would shine through the window at dawn. Overall, the room held a great collection of 'recycled' junk that had been repurposed, such as an old shipping crate that had been turned into a magazine rack and an electric wire spool that now served as a table. In a patch of sun that was shining through the window, a black miniature potbellied pig, obviously Emily's pet Wenceslas, looked up when the group had entered, but upon seeing Emily, he seemed to decide that the rest of them could be trusted and went back to sleep.

The six friends watched as Emily picked up an opened letter that was lying on the electric wire table and handed it to them.

"Remember when I told you that this place was kept open under funding?" she began. "Well, lately, we're getting more children coming to the Center then we can handle. And I'm sure you're all aware that they're coming out with new AIDS treatments. And that means more expenses. In any event, we no longer have enough funding to keep this place going. That letter came this morning. It's a foreclosure notice. We only have a month left, then we all have to vacate."

"What's going to happen to the children?" Roger asked.

"Chances are they'll be taken to a children's hospital."

"Well, that would be good," Joanne pointed out. "There, they can be better provided for and receive the best treatment possible."

"That's not the part I'm worried about," Emily whispered, looking away.

"Excuse me, Emily?" Nana announced, poking her head into the room. "I'm sorry, but the adoption agency we're partnered to is on the phone. They said… it's that Colmillo person. He's filled out all the paperwork.. for Penny's adoption."

"What!" Emily's eyes widened as she made a mad dash for the phone, picking it up in desperation. "Yes, hello! Listen, I really don't think you realize what you're doing…. Yes, I know Colmillo seems like a nice man and all, and that he appears to be able to provide for her, but… Oh, will you just _listen_ to me for a moment? This guy gave me a bad vibe when we met with each other last week. I'm not convinced he's the type of man who can care for Penny properly….. Okay, look. I know I'm starting to sound like a broken record, here, but _**I**_ want to adopt Penny. I understand that I'm under twenty-five, and I have no steady income, and there's that single mother thing, but I know I can make it…Are you lau… _he's laughing at me!_ No, no, don't hang… Don't hang… Hello? Hello!" Emily slammed the phone back on the cradle. " _Mannaggia!_ " Breathing heavily, she rested her head against the wall, muttering under her breath in what sounded like Italian. 

"Hey, Emily?" Mark asked, moving closer to his friend in concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Mark. I'll be fine. Sorry for blowing up like that, guys," Emily breathed. "It's just that I've been on edge enough as it is lately, and now this. Everything's all happening at once. It's like what they say. When it rains, it pours."

After a few more deep breaths in an attempt to calm down, Emily dropped down into a chair.

"Penny's not like the others, you see. She's not here because her parents had AIDS or were on drugs. Her mother died giving birth to her, and since she has no known living relatives, she's been here ever since. But because Penny doesn't have the same… condition as the others, she's a prime choice for parents looking to adopt." At this point, Emily buried her face in her hands. "Penny and I; we've never been apart since she was born. She's _always_ been around. And, ever since I turned eighteen, I _knew_ I wanted to adopt her. Most hopeful couples would look at Penny and want to adopt her off the back because she's perfectly healthy. Not me. I wouldn't care if she was autistic, or born with an extra head, or had spina bifida. None of that's important. Because she's just Penny. I was there when she learned how to walk, how to talk, when she was teething, when she was potty-trained, when she lost her first tooth. And now they're trying to take her away from me, so I will no longer be able to be there for her, and be present for all of her firsts. I couldn't bear that, because _no one_ could love that little girl more then me. And I couldn't love her more if she was my own flesh and blood." Sighing, Emily got back up and started to fiddle with her locket. "How can I say goodbye, now?"

"Maybe… you won't have to," Mimi spoke up. "We still have a month, right? Perhaps, _we_ could help you get enough money together to keep this place open a while longer. That way, you wouldn't have to put any of the children up for adoption, and you'll have more time to figure out a way to keep Penny."

"I appreciate the thought, but legality is against me there," Emily shook her head. "They would _never_ let someone like me, a single mother under twenty-five, adopt any child. It doesn't help that I have no paying job."

"Emily, don't forget that I am a lawyer," Joanne pointed out. "I'm sure, if you give me a bit of time, I could find some loophole in the adoption laws that would enable you to keep Penny."

"As for the money," Mark added. "I still have a bit left over from the work I did at Buzzline. That's yours for the taking."

"Mimi and I can also throw in some of the money from our teaching jobs at NYU," Collins offered. "And if it comes to it, we still have the ATM at the Food Emporium."

"OH, OH!" Maureen inputted. "And I could do a protest against closing this place down, and…"

"Why does it _always_ have to be a protest with you?" Roger fired out.

"It might not be much, Emily," Mimi smiled. "But it might be enough to keep the Center open for a little longer." Emily suddenly shook her head, frowning.

"No. No," she said. "No, I… I _couldn't_ take your money. It wouldn't be right."

"And what would be right? Us sitting back and not helping out a friend who was in need?" Collins stated. "We're helping you out, Emily, whether you like it or not." Emily paused, looking around at the Bohemians, before bowing her head.

"I have to know," she replied finally, looking back up and smiling weakly. "I _have_ to know. What did I do, to deserve friends like you?"

"Come on, we better get started," Mark announced, smiling at the photographer. "We only got a month. That's not very long."


	10. No Words Were Needed

The next month went by rather quickly. With Mark's Buzzline money, and portions of Collins and Mimi's paychecks, the money to keep The Center open increased steadily. Mark had even convinced Emily to try and sell some of her pictures on the street, an act that not only brought in a few hundred dollars alone, but had also amazed Emily, who had never had the confidence to consider placing her work up for sale. Now the moment of truth had come. The bankers who dealt with the financial funding for the Center were due to arrive at any moment. The Bohemians, minus Roger, whom Mimi and admitted had been disappearing quite frequently lately, were gathered around Emily in her room, watching as she calculated the total profits from their efforts on a yellow scratch pad.

"Great," Emily groaned when she was done. "It's still not enough."

"Hold on," Roger announced as he suddenly entered the room. "Add this to the pot." To everyone's surprise, he deposited a reasonable stack of money on the table in front of Emily.

"Roger, where'd you get that?" Mark asked, visibly shocked.

"Well," he began sheepishly. "I didn't want to say anything before, 'cause I didn't want to get your hopes too high. But I've been playing my guitar on the street corners, kinda like how Angel used to get her money, remember? That's all I managed to get, but I really hope it's enough." After a silence, in which everyone was too stunned to speak, Mimi let out an excited shriek, and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him full on the lips.

"Oh, Roger, babe! That was so sweet!" she cried. "So _that's_ where you've been disappearing to all this time!"

"So Emily, is it enough?" Collins prompted.

The bohemians stood by as Emily added Roger's contribution to their total on her scratch pad and compared it to the foreclosure notice. After a few tense seconds, she lowered the papers.

"We're... still a few hundred dollars short," she announced in defeat. "And time's up." Emily got up from the table and turned to face the window. In the street, she saw the funding people had arrived, and were now walking into the Center. "I really thought I had a chance."

"Emily, we're so sorry," Maureen said, in an attempt to comfort her.

"Forget it, Maureen. We did our best. It just wasn't good enough, you know? Thanks for trying."

Sighing, Emily once again fiddled with her locket. a move that had became almost characteristic of her.

"I wish…" she whispered. "I wish Zack was here. He'd know what to do. He always knew what to do."

Silently, she headed downstairs to meet the funding people to hand ownership of the Center to the bank.

* * *

Hours had passed.  After the Center's financial backers had gone, Emily had returned to her room and immediately plopped down on the bed, where she proceeded to absentmindedly scratch Wenceslas' ears. Collins had to step out a few moments ago, as he had an obligation to attend a faculty meeting at NYU. Joanne had also pulled Maureen away as well, stating that there was something they needed to do as soon as possible. Thus, only Mark, Roger and Mimi remained to try and cheer Emily up a bit.

"Maybe," Mimi began, still trying to remain hopeful, "If we talk the bank and ask them to give us more time…."

"Stop it, Mimi," Emily scolded, her eyes suddenly over-bright, as if fighting back tears. "They gave us a month, and it wasn't enough. The fat lady has sung. Our efforts weren't good enough. Perhaps," Emily looked away at this point, her voice starting to crack. "Maybe _I_ was never good enough."

"Don't talk like that!" Mark cried.

"Give me _another_ explanation, Mark," Emily demanded, standing up and fixing him with an angry glare. "If seven years wasn't enough to earn the right to adopt Penny, then what is? I let her down, don't you get it? I promised I'd always be there to protect her, no matter what. If I can't even keep a promise I made to a little girl, then how can I ever say I was good enough? Can you answer me that?" When Mark couldn't come up with an answer, Emily sat back down on the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest.

"Emily," Roger, who had been quiet up to that point, spoke up. "I want you to listen closely, because this is important. Whatever you do, don't do what I did. When I lost April, leaving me to face my HIV status and my heroin withdrawal alone, I gave up on life. For a whole year, I wouldn't leave the loft for anything. I didn't think anything mattered anymore. I was going to die anyway, so why should I even try? But that's when I met Mimi. With her help, I finally figured out that my life wasn't over yet. There was still so much to live for. I realize that this situation isn't the same thing, but in some aspects, it's the same. You can't give up, because there are still things worth fighting for. And when it really gets tough, you turn to your friends. Because we're always here for you, like the way they were always there for me."

When Emily didn't show any sign of replying, Roger motioned to Mark and Mimi to leave the room with him. However, just when they started to walk out…

"Stay," Emily croaked, her voice strained by forced-back tears. "I'm sorry, all of you. I know I'm acting like a whiny brat and all…"

"No, you're not…" Mimi began.

"Please, let me finish. After my mom and dad died, it was just me and Zack. We were just two lost kids in a big city. He was seven years older then me, but he was still young himself, only eleven. But he promised me, that no matter what happened to us, he'd always be there to protect me. But then he died, and I was left to practically fend for myself. Sure, I had Nana, and there was Uncle Kevin…"

"You have an uncle?"

"No. Not really. I'm talking about Officer Kurtz. I told you before my brother, Zack, was a cop when he was alive. He and Officer Kurtz were in the same precinct. In fact, they were partners. Actually, when I think about it, their relationship wasn't unlike the one Roger has with Collins. When Zack died, Officer Kurtz made it a habit to check up on me from time to time, sometimes bringing a care package of food, and sometimes some money. Not much, just enough to help me get by. 'Cause when Zack died, I was still a minor, see?

"But despite having Nana and Officer Kurtz around, it still wasn't the same. They weren't Zack. He'd promised me that he'd always be around to protect me. But then he died. It was a little over a year later that Penny was born. That was one day I'll never forget. I had never seen an actual newborn before then, so I was a little taken aback by how small she was. I even said she was almost as small as a penny. Needless to say, the name 'Penny' stuck. I don't know what it was exactly, but when she was born, I think I actually saw a bit of myself in her. Her entire family dead, with no one to really depend on. I guess I dared to hope that there was some sign in all that.  Like it was meant to be, and it was my one true calling to be the one who'd look after her, and take care of her, and just be all the things Zack was for me. And so, I made the same promise Zack made me, that I'd always be there to protect her, no matter what. But now it's all going to end the same way. I'm going to break my promise to Penny, just like how Zack broke his promise to me."

"Emily," Mark sighed. Emily instantly broke down and cried.

"I hated Zack for a while after he died," she sobbed. "I hated him for breaking his promise. I hated him for abandoning me. But most of all, I hated myself, because I _couldn't_ hate him, even though I wanted to. And I hated myself even more for feeling that way. What if Penny starts hating me, too?"

As Emily continued to cry, one-by-one, Roger, Mimi and Mark all joined her on the bed, all three encasing the photographer in a comforting hug. It was a mutual non-spoken agreement that no words were needed.


	11. Never Let Go

Morning arrived with a bright blazing blood red sun that shone into Mark's face, waking him instantly. At the present time, he was sprawled out on the floor in Emily's room. Roger and Mimi were both still asleep, curled up in an easy chair and holding one another. None of them felt very comfortable with leaving Emily alone that night, so they had all decided to stay.

Mark looked over at Emily who was curled up in her bed. He could still see slight hints of tear stains standing out on her cheeks. Feeling a fresh wave of sympathy for his friend, Mark walked over and tucked her blankets closer around her before moving on to the window and gazing out at the city. He would never know just how long he stood there, but he was brought out of his stupor when he heard a floorboard creak behind him. Turning around, he saw Emily was awake and now standing behind him. Her eyes were still red from crying, and she was hugging her quilt tightly around her.

"You guys didn't have to stay, you know," she pointed out as she started to shuffle over to a trunk in the corner of the room.

"We wanted to," Mark insisted.

"Thank you. I don't know how I can ever convey how grateful I am for all your help this past month."

"I just wish we could have done more." Mark watched as Emily opened the trunk and took out a very old lop-eared plush rabbit. "A bunny?"

"It's… Mr. Twiggers," Emily confessed, fondling the long ears nostalgically. "I've had him since before I can remember. My dad gave him to me when my mom and I came home from the hospital after I was born. He always told me that this was a special rabbit, and if I kept him safe, good things would happen to me. I… I want Penny to have him now. Hopefully, if there is some bit of luck in him, Penny will find a way to unlock it. I know I never managed to."

"For what it's worth," Mark began, placing a hand on Emily's shoulder, "I think you would have made a great mother to Penny."

"Thanks, Mark. You're a true friend. Never let anyone tell you otherwise."

At that moment, the door opened, and, as if she had sensed that they were talking about her, Penny walked in.

"Good morning, Emily," Penny greeted with a smile, seemingly not noticing the somber mood that hung in the air. "Nana says that breakfast's nearly done. We're having blueberry pancakes."

"Mark," Emily said softly. "You, uh,… you head down with Mimi and Roger, okay? Penny and I; we got a lot to talk about, you know?" Mark sadly complied by waking his sleeping friends up before the trio moved to the door.

"We'll be downstairs if you need us," Mark offered before leaving the room.

"Thank you," Emily nodded, sitting on her bed and pulling Penny up onto her lap.

From the doorway, Mark couldn't help but pause for a moment, listening in on the conversation.

"Penny, listen to me for a moment," Emily began. "You've all been told what's going to happen to The Center, haven't you?"

"Yes, Nana told us all a week ago. Everyone else is all set to move later on today," Penny responded. "I'm gonna miss them. Especially Rupert and Jerry. It was never boring with them around, was it?"

"No. It wasn't." Emily sighed. "But, Penny, the thing is… I… we have to…"

"Emily? You're not _that_ upset about them leaving, are you? The children's hospital isn't that far. Nana says we can still stop by to check up on them. Things aren't going to change all that much, right?"

Penny's innocent naivety over the situation was almost too much for Emily to take. From the crack in the door, Mark watched as Emily pulled Penny closer, before softly singing to the child.

_"_   _can't understand it._

_The search for an answer is met with a darker day._

_And we've been handed these moments forever._

_But I'm reassured there's another way._

_You don't have to close your eyes._

_There is room for love again._

_Ease the pain to realize all that love can be._

_Forced apart by time and sand._

_Take a step and take my hand._

_And don't let it go. Never let go._

Mark couldn't stand to hear anymore, and quickly went down to join Mimi and Roger downstairs.

* * *

Nana sat at The Center's dining hall table with Mark, Roger and Mimi, the four of them eating in silence. During the meal, Collins, who clearly had decided to stop by for Emily's sake, entered the room.

"How's she holding up?" he asked.

"Not so good," Mimi sighed. "Poor girl cried herself to sleep last night. You should have seen her, sobbing about how she felt after Zack had died, and how she was afraid Penny might hate her for not being able to adopt her…."

"Hold on one moment!" Nana looked up in surprise. "You mean to say that Emily _actually_ started talking about her past with you?"

"Yeah, that's right. Why?" "It's just a first. She hasn't talked about her past with _anyone_ before. Up until now, she's only willingly talked about it with Zack. Do you think it's possible that she…"

"She what?" Mark urged.

"She actually _trusts_ you?"

"Well, stranger things have happened," Roger scowled.

"Oh, no. Don't take offense. It's simply that she won't even go over some points in her past with me, and I'm just not sure if it's just a result of the pressure valve finally starting to break, or if something about you folks makes her feel more at ease. All I do know is that Emily has usually tried to deal with her problems on her own, because she's afraid of becoming a burden to others. She's always tried to put everything on herself, even when she can't handle it." Nana suddenly started to chuckle to herself. "I still remember, that time Mimi invited her to have dinner with all of you for the first time a few months back. The next day, she couldn't stop talking about you, did you know that? I've known Emily for practically her whole life. When she came home that night, she was laughing so hard, there were actually tears in her eyes. Emily has _never_ laughed like that. Not even when Zack was alive. And then, for the first time in a long time, she actually started doing things for herself instead of concentrating solely on the needs of the children here. Before meeting you, her entire schedule revolved around these children. She even conditioned herself to wake up automatically in the middle of the night, just to go down and check up on them all. But now she's going off window shopping with Mimi, Maureen and Joanne, or joking around with Roger and Collins, or talking with Mark while critiquing each others work…"

"You're blaming us for making her shirk her duties here?" Mark accused.

"No! Not blaming. _Thanking you_. Emily is still young. I _want_ her to spend more time just enjoying being young while she can, doing all the things that twenty-three-year-olds are _supposed_ to do, instead of being the responsible caretaker twenty-four-seven. If it's not too bold for me to say, I think it was a _very_ lucky day for Emily when you crashed your bike outside the Center, Mark."

As Mark opened his mouth to speak, the door in The Center's entryway burst open with a bang. Seconds later, Maureen and Joanne hurried in.

"Where's Emily?" Maureen cried, looking extremely excited about something.

"Oh, for goodness sakes, guys!" Emily, no doubt having heard the sound of the door flying open so quickly, instantly appeared at the foot of the stairs with Penny next to her. "I swear, if you've broken that door, I'm not paying the repair bill."

"Emily!" Joanne exclaimed. "We've found you a job! A _paying_ job!"

"Wh…what?" Emily looked between the two, clearly confused as to what they were talking about.

"I've been going over the laws pertaining to adoption, and talked with the adoption agencies, and there's still hope!" Joanne quickly explained. "Since you've been caring for children for so long, they're willing to let you bypass the age and marital status points. But they won't ignore you being jobless."

"Way to burst a bubble, guys."

"No, we _found_ you a job! _The Village Voice_ is in need of a photojournalist. Maureen and I just got off the phone with them. They're just asking to see a portfolio of your work, then the position's yours!" Emily stood stock still, looking incredibly like a stunned beast. Seconds later, her shock melted away, and she let out cry of excitement.

"Nana, quick! Where'd you put my portfolio?" she cried, dashing across the room to grab her Yankees cap, which was hanging from a coat rack on the wall.

"The hall closet!" Nana stated.

Before heading out the door, Emily stopped to give Penny a tight hug.

"You just sit tight here for a bit, Penny. When I get back, we're going out for ice cream. Things are _finally_ turning around."

With that, Emily raced out the door, with the other Bohemians following her. "Aw, Maureen, Joanne, I owe you guys _big!_ "

"You can just include us in that ice cream treat, and we'll call it even," Maureen joked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Emily sings to Penny really does exist. It's called 'Never Let Go', sang by Josh Groban and Deep Forest. I know it probably didn't exist during the time period in question, but it's just one heck of a song, and I really thought it fit the mood.


	12. Taken

Penny and Nana watched from the door as the van drove off, taking the other children to the children's hospital.

"I really hope they'll be happy there," Penny stated, hugging Mr. Twiggers closer to her.

"I'm sure they will be," Nana nodded, ushering Penny back inside. "Now, how about going upstairs and getting dressed?" she suggested, noticing the little girl was still in her pajamas. "You'll want to be ready when Emily and the others come back."

Penny obediently went upstairs, coming back down five minutes later. As soon as she reached the bottom step, she heard voices in the next room. Nana was there, talking to a tall, stern-looking woman Penny recognized at Ms. Perkins, the woman in charge of adoption at The Center. A middle-aged man who looked as if he was of Hispanic descent was standing nearby.

"Mrs. Chang, I am simply following regulations," Ms. Perkins was saying. "I'm sure you understand. If you make this harder then it has to be…"

"What's going on?" Penny spoke up, announcing her presence.

"Ah, so here's the one," Ms. Perkins glanced down at the freckled-face child, motioning to the Hispanic man. "Penny, this is Colmillo."

* * *

Emily paused in the street, turning her face up to the bright mid-morning sun, her eyes closed in contentment and a broad smile on her face.

"You're all probably sick of hearing this by now," Emily grinned, turning to face her friends. "But I  _really_ can't thank you enough. I'd have never managed to get through without your help."

"What are friends for?"

The Bohemians continued to walk down the street in their return to The Center, chatting away about the ice cream treat Emily had promised them all.

"I'm getting strawberry!" Mimi announced.

"Yeah, cookies and cream would really taste good to me," Emily agreed. "I might have to take double insulin shots later, but it's worth it."

As they approached The Center, however, a rusty looking car pulled away from the curb and drove past them. Through the back window, they could all see Penny inside the car.

"Emily! Emily, help!"

"PENNY!"

Emily broke out into a run after the car, but it quickly sped up, leaving her standing in the street, staring after the disappearing car with a mixture of shock and pain. A second later, she tore up the steps to The Center. The others all hurried in after her, making it inside in time to see her in the mist of a screaming fight with Ms. Perkins.

"WHY? Why'd you do that, you stupid woman!"

"Miss Goodhall," Ms. Perkins scolded sternly. "My job is to place children in suitable, stable environments. Colmillo had filled out all the paperwork. His record precedes him, and he had exceptional good words from his references."

"No! I got a job, don't you get it? I told you guys time and time again that I could take care of her! What do I gotta do to convince you people?"

"The deadline has passed for you, Miss Goodhall," Ms. Perkins had taken up a tone of finality. "Perhaps it's best you start thinking about what's best for that girl."

" _I'm_  what's best for her."

"This matter is closed, Miss Goodhall. Good day to you."

"Good?  _LITTLE LATE FOR THAT_!" Emily shouted as Ms. Perkins walked out.

"Emily, I'm sorry," Nana began. "I tried to stop her. I stalled them as long as I could."

"You should have fought harder," Emily replied in a dangerous whisper. "You should have… egged his windshield, popped his tires,  _anything_."

"Please, there's nothing I could have done," Nana insisted. "Obstruction of legality, Emily. She was threatening us with obstruction of legality. What did you want me to do? Get out into the middle of the street and block the car with my body?"

"I WOULD HAVE!"

Emily stormed over to the stairs, but sank to the ground before she reached them. After a moment's hesitation, Mark walked over and placed a hand on Emily's shoulder. The defeated photographer slapped it away, at first, but when Mark tried again, she let out a quiet sob, and reached back to place her hand on his, in a gesture of gratitude for his consolation attempt.


	13. Emily's Baggage

The Bohemians all sat in The Center's Dining Hall as Nana placed bowls of the remaining Mac and Cheese in front of each of them.

"I'm not really hungry," Emily stated simply as Nana tried to place the seventh bowl in front of her.

"You really can't give up, Emily," Maureen offered. "You can still go up against this guy in a custody battle. I'm sure Joanne could represent you."

"On what basis?" Emily asked. "He hasn't abused her, has he? He's not an alcoholic, is he?"

"Well, perhaps," Joanne tried, "I could look up on this Colmillo person. Maybe I could find some bit of evidence that could help out." Seeing that Emily wasn't about to argue or point out fault, Joanne took that as a 'yes'. "Nana, could I see Penny's adoption papers? I want to know this man's full name."

"Of course. Right here," Nana held up some papers, reading over them as she passed them to Joanne. "The adoption of Miss Penny Hope Hollingsworth, by a Colmillo DeLarata…"

"What did you say?" Mimi's head shot up in surprise. "By  _who_?"

"Colmillo DeLarata," Nana repeated. "Why?"

"Let me see that!" Mimi took the adoption papers and stared at the name. "Oh… oh my Go… OH, _SH-T_!"

"Mimi, what is it?"

"Colmillo DeLatrata! That's not a real name!" she cried in a panic. "It's _Spanish!_ Colmillo de la rata, literally translated: fang of the rat!"

"The Rat Fangs!" Mark realized.

Emily's face instantly froze. It took her a few seconds to snap out of it, but once she did, she was on her feet, rage practically radiating off her, before starting to storm out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Nana called.

"Where do you think? I'm getting Penny back."

"Don't be foolish. You don't even have any idea where they've taken Penny, for starters. How could you possibly figure out where they are now?"

"The traditional way. Look."

Once again, Emily started to leave but Collins moved forward and took her arm, holding her back.

"Let go, Collins."

"You're upset and not thinking straight, Emily. Take a moment to assess the situation. This is a street gang, and they're been known to murder people. If you run off blindly, you're liable to get yourself killed."

"I can't just sit here. They could _kill_ her, and it's my fault she's in this situation. I don't expect any of you to understand…"

"We do," Roger stated. "We know they're after you, Emily. We heard what you and Officer Kurtz were saying, that day at the hospital, when you passed out after seeing Madison. Chances are they're trying to use Penny as bait. They're using her to get you to do something stupid. If you go off, you're playing into their hands, and doing exactly what they want you to do."

It took Emily a moment to look back, her arms hanging limply at her sides.

"You… you've all known? This whole time? Then why are you still here?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you knew that they've been after me, you must have figured out that your lives are all in danger, too. Most people… they'd usually keep their distance from someone if they could get themselves killed from just  _knowing_ …."

"Last I checked, we're not 'most people'," Collins pointed out.

"Emily," Nana entered the exchange. "Perhaps… it's time you told them the full story. They're your friends. They have a right to know."

"I can't," Emily replied. "I… I don't want anyone else dying for my sake, Nana. I swore I wouldn't allow it long ago."

"And I've constantly been telling  _you_ there's no way you can deal with this on your own," Nana persisted. "Zack wouldn't have wanted you to face all of this by yourself."

"Zack didn't have much of a problem with facing his trials alone towards the end, if you'd remember."

"Emily, you're  _not Zack_!" Nana began to scold the photographer. "You will  _never_ be Zack. And you shouldn't have to be. Just because Zack died before his time, that doesn't mean  _you_ have to.  Or have you forgotten what Zack told you before he died?"

"I never forget," Emily responded after a very pregnant pause.

Mark stood up and helped Emily into a chair.

"Emily, you can tell us. We'll listen," he assured. "No matter how bad it is, we're all here for you. We all have baggage of some kind. But no one here lets one of us carry it alone."

"You… you won't like what you hear."

"Try us."

Emily slowly glanced around at the Bohemians, who were all waiting for her to answer.

"Nana?" she finally spoke. "You're, uh, gonna have to help me out here. Remember, I wasn't there when this started."

"Of course, Emily." Nana stepped up to Emily's side to convey the story, facing the Bohemians as she did so. "This whole mess with Emily and the Rat Fang Gang; it actually begins many years before Emily was even born. It begins with a young poet, Natalie, and Zeke, the son of an extremely well-off family."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for the long wait, and because the chapters are so short, I posted two at once. Hope people are liking the story so far. The next few chapters will be largely flashbacks.


	14. Connection

**New York: 1959**

"Nana, where's my beret?"

Upon hearing the inquiry, the fifty-two year old Nana Chang looked over at a young woman with extremely frizzy mousy-brown hair and violet eyes, dressed in a black beatnik dress.

"Natalie, don't you think that old beret's past its retirement?" Nana smiled at her young friend.

"But that beret is my lucky beret!" Natalie insisted with a laugh, continuing to look around the room. "I always wear it at poetry readings. Oh, wait! Here it is!" Natalie held up an old black beret, which she placed on her head. "There! Now I'm ready! How do I look?"

"Honestly? Like a French spy!"

"Nana, come on!" Natalie laughed in good-nature, before heading for the door, giving the older woman a quick kiss on the forehead. "You gonna come and see me tonight at Gaslight, right?"

"I never miss it, Natalie. Ever."

* * *

A young man with medium brown hair and hazel eyes paused to examine his reflection in a shop window on Bleeker Street. He was dressed in a faded suede vest, and corduroy pants, at, at first glance, fit right in with the other people walking by.

"Looking good, Zeke!" he complemented himself. "Not even your old man would know it's you, unless he really looked, and there's no chance of that happening. He'd never look at anyone he'd deem as 'low-class'. Tonight, you're no lucky little brat born into money. You're just a normal boy, out for a normal wind-down in the city that never sleeps."

Zeke grinned to himself as he entered a small establishment called Gaslight Café, pleased at his luck. From what he had heard, finding an empty seat in this place was rare. But there was one left, which provided a good view of the stage.

"Herbal tea, please," Zeke asked the counter clerk, claiming the empty chair as he spoke.

As Zeke sat back and enjoyed his drink, a young woman in a black beatnik dress and matching beret, with her frizzy hair tied back into a ponytail, moved up onto stage, where a spotlight shone down on her. The girl took a seat on a stool that had been placed on the stage, and began to recite a poem

_If someone were to ask you,_

_"What is the Strongest Thing on Earth today",_

_What would be your response?_

_Would you answer Steel,_

_Which makes buildings grow tall,_

_Or creates machines of yellow-gold,_

_To create or destroy?_

_Would you respond Stone,_

_That can cleave a skull,_

_Break a bone,_

_Or build mighty walls?_

_Or would you claim that Concrete,_

_Which covers the ground_

_To make way for transports_

_Earns the title of 'Strongest'?_

_All good answers,_

_Yes, It's true._

_But what brings Steel towers to the ground,_

_When they grow old and brittle?_

_What can pound against Stone endlessly,_

_Until it comes reformed as Sand?_

_What breaks apart the Concrete,_

_And creates a hole for the Sun?_

_Wind,_

_Water,_

_And Earth._

_Forces of Nature_

_That brings Man's work to fall to Dust._

_Truly, it is Nature's might,_

_That earns the title of Strongest._

As the young poet moved off the stage, accompanied by the snapping of fingers, Zeke realized that he had been so entranced by the girl's performance; he had been holding his cup halfway to his lips for the entire time. Quickly he placed the drink back on the table and continued to watch as Natalie went around the room, collecting money in a wicker basket. Never taking his eyes off her, he dug into his wallet.

* * *

Natalie always made a mental note to thank anyone who was willing to cast money her way after her poetry recitals with a large smile, even if it was only a cent. Every little bit helped, after all. And tonight was just like all the others. However, as she passed by the tables, a hand dropped a bill into the basket. When Natalie glanced down at it, she froze in shock at the sight of a $50 bill.

That had to be a mistake. Someone must have taken out the wrong bill. She turned around to see a boy about her age, watching her intently with a wide smile on his face. Hesitantly, she moved back over to him.

"Excuse me, sir. But I think you made a mistake."

"Have I?"

"Yes. This is a $50 bill you gave me."

"Oh. Yes, I believe it is. Is there a problem with that?"

"Okay, what do you want?"

"What makes you think I want something?"

"No one gives anyone this much without wanting something in return, mister."

The boy continued to look at her in silence for a moment. Feeling a little self-conscious, Natalie started to walk off. But as she started to leave, the young man spoke again.

"Okay. You caught me. There _is_ something I'd like."

"And what is that?"

"Your name, for starters." Natalie gave him an incredulous look.

"Hold that thought, Mr. Suave," she finally replied, before moving on to finish collecting tips.

* * *

Natalie rejoined the young man a few minutes later, seeing that he now had two cups of herbal tea in front of him.

"I hope I ordered a flavor you like," he smiled, gesturing to the second cup.

"Okay then, first you willingly over tip, now you buy me tea," Natalie mused. "What's your catch? You can't possibly be just a nice guy. You gotta have an angle."

"No angle. I just want your name, for starters, remember." Natalie eyed him appraisingly.

"It's Natalie."

"Good. Now I can say this: You're very talented, Natalie. You have one beautiful mind."

"So I take it you enjoy poetry?"

"I liked  _yours_."

"Now that does it," Natalie fought back a laugh as she felt a warm blush rise up to her cheeks. "You could charm the whiskers of a cat; you buy tea for strange girls you just met at poetry recitals…."

"What makes you think every guy has an angle?"

"Most men do."

"I'm not most men."

The discourse continued on for a good fifteen minutes. Natalie continued to test the young man with every trick and trap she knew.  Anything to make him slip-up. But every time, his answer pleasantly surprised her.

"Forgive the interruption, Natalie," the counter clerk suddenly stepped in. "But I really need to ask you and your friend to leave- it's well past closing time."

"Oh!" Natalie looked at the wall clock in surprise. "I'm so sorry!"

"Not at all," the counter clerk smiled, assuring her that he wasn't mad.

Natalie and the young man left Gaslight Café and stopped just outside the door, where the boy turned to Natalie.

"So, are you going to be here again tomorrow night?" he asked.

"Yes, I am."

"Good. Maybe I'll see you." With that, he started to walk off.

"Hold up!" Natalie called, causing him to stop and look back immediately. "You never gave me  _your_  name, remember?" The boy smiled broadly.

"It's Zeke," he replied, before continuing on his way.

* * *

In a grandly furbished apartment suite, a young man was pacing about, looking very unnerved about something. He immediately stopped when the door opened, and Zeke walked in.

"Oh, good grief!" the boy groaned, taking in the fact that Zeke was still dressed in his 'street garb'.

"Hello, Melrone," Zeke greeted his brother.

"Why? Why the disguise again, Zeke?" Melrone scolded in exasperation.

"I had a wonderful time tonight, Melrone," Zeke announced, paying no heed to the question. "No one treated me like I was some rich boy."

"Will you listen to me?" Melrone begged. "Zeke, if Father knew what you were always up to, he'd hit the ceiling."

"And I know  _you'll_ never tell him, so we don't have a problem, do we?" Zeke laughed.

"Will you please be serious? What can you possibly find out in the city streets that can top what we were born to? Help me out here. We're heirs to a rich father; we can easily go on holidays to places other people spend their whole lives trying to afford to visit.  What am I not getting?"

"Melrone, I have no life of my own here. I need the freedom to do things I want. Why do I have to give up those freedoms because I was born with a prestigious family name?"

"Zeke, please. This disappearing thing has got to stop. It's too dangerous."

"Oh, calm down, Melrone. I was perfectly safe."

"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about me: you can't keep running off to mix with the lower classes. Father notices every time you do, and I'm running out of excuses." Zeke shook his head, and went off to his bedroom, leaving Melrone seriously distressed. "If he wants to kill me, why doesn't he just push me out the window and get it over with?"

* * *

The next morning Zeke walked the streets of New York. This time, he was with Melrone. The brothers were accompanying their father, Max, who was meeting some important financial backers. Zeke barely paid attention to Max's ramblings on how his sons needed to see how business was done, since they would one day be dealing with the same sort of affairs. There were more important things to think about, like how he was going to find a way to return to Gaslight that night, and hear more of Natalie's poetry.

At that moment, his father's angry shouts brought him out of his daydreaming. A pair of small children, clearly belonging to a lower east side family, had been playing with a ball, but one child had miss-thrown and it had nearly hit Max's leg, prompting the grown man to start shouting, complaining about how disgraceful it was that street waifs weren't confined to a place where they couldn't be seen. Zeke was just about to try to calm his father down, but someone else beat him to the punch.

"Hey, stuffed shirt!" a young woman exclaimed, marching up to Max. "How about taking your millions and use them to purchase some common decency, instead of rare champagnes and silkworms."

"Out of my sight, woman! Learn your place!" Max boomed.

"I know my place, and it's right here- defending those who can't protect themselves!  Especially from self-absorbed, dried-up snobs like you!"

"You dare speak to me like that again, woman, and I'll have the police down here…!"

"Dad, calm down!" Zeke interuppled, stepping forward to break up the fight. "You'll get a heart attack if you…."

Zeke immediately stopped talking when he recognized the girl who had been fighting with his father. It was Natalie. And from the look on her face, she clearly recognized him, too. Natalie stared straight at him in shock, but the surprise quickly shifted into fury and accusation. Before Zeke could say anything to correct her obvious assumptions that he had deliberately deceived her into thinking he was a nice guy last night, Natalie had stormed off.

* * *

As night fell, Zeke sat in his room alone, trying in vain to erase the betrayed look Natalie had given him when the truth had came out. He had to make her realize that he wasn't like his father, and that he wasn't leading her astray the other night as Gaslight.

After making sure no one was outside his room, Zeke quickly changed back into his 'street garb', which he kept hidden in the back of his closet.

* * *

Inside the Gaslight Café, Natalie took a seat at a lone table, taking a long sip of herbal tea. She had just completed another set of poetry recitals and was currently taking a moment to rest.

"I enjoyed your poetry tonight," a familiar voice spoke into her ear.

"Ah. I remember you," Natalie commented, glancing coldly over at Zeke, who had joined her at the table without her noticing. "So, Rich Boy, what compelled you to return to the rough, riff-raff side of this concrete jungle?" Zeke quickly cleared his throat.

"Oh, the searing pain, when those living in poverty assume that all those born to money look down upon the so-called dregs of society, for it is in doing so, they become guilty of the very crime they scorn so deeply. The crime of stereotyping" When Zeke looked back at Natalie, in order to see her reaction, he was pleased to see her entire face lit up with astonishment.

"Oooh, I must say, boy. You are simply overflowing with the right stuff," she grinned broadly. "Is smooth talking one of the classes at those high-end finishing schools?  Because you are obviously top of the class."

"Honestly? I zoned out throughout all of finishing school. Couldn't wait to get out.  Spending all my free time in a cramped, stuffy dorm room? I felt like veal. In fact, sometimes I wonder about the possibility that there was a mix-up at the hospital."

"How so?"

"Natalie, have you ever had one of those moments where you step back, and look at everything around you, and think ' _this is not my life?_ 'I feel like that every day."

When Zeke noticed Natalie looked confused by this statement, he started to explain.

"I'm supposed to be this spoiled little rich kid. I've been expected to behave and act a certain way. 'Walk with your head held proud, Zeke.' 'You're the heir to one the most respected names in America, Zeke.' 'Don't spare a glance to those on the street, Zeke' 'Everyone else is beneath you; don't disgrace yourself by consorting with them, Zeke.' It's all brainwashing! I should have been destroyed by all that after being exposed to it from birth. My brother certainly was. But not me. I still find myself on the inside, looking out, wanting and wishing to be a part of the real world."

"So that's why you made yourself up to look like…," Natalie surmised.

"One of you," Zeke finished. "Like a _normal_ person. I know this probably sounds crazy, but I'd give  _anything_ to have what you have and escape my glided cage. To think what I want, say what I want, go anywhere I please, without worrying about meeting with… Mr. and Mrs. Pippinpopple of the Pippinpopple Popcorn Fortune for afternoon luncheon, followed by an excruciatingly long stroll through their spacious grounds, admiring every stinking monotonous rosebush we come to." Natalie instantly started laughing, which caused Zeke to turn beet red. "Oh, great. Now you're laughing at me."

"No," Natalie insisted. "I'm laughing  _with_  you. You have to be the most profound person I've ever met."

"So, do I take that as a complement?" Zeke asked hopefully.

"Perhaps," Natalie smiled, lightly running her index finger across the side of Zeke's hand, an act which made his heart rate skyrocket. Zeke returned Natalie's smile, and, emboldened by her small gesture, reached out to cover her hand with his.

"Meet me tomorrow, at the Bronx Zoo?" Zeke invited. "Around ten?"

"What about your luncheon with the Pippinpopples?" Natalie teased.

"Well… guess I'll just have to rain check."

* * *

The next day brought clear blue skies, ideal weather for a zoo trip. Zeke and Natalie met one another as scheduled, laughing over the phony story Zeke had told his father about meeting some boys from finishing school. Zeke was personally surprised by the fact Natalie wasn't bothered by seeing the creatures in the reptile house, or some of the other non-cute creatures that were on exhibit.

After what seemed like hours, they made a final visit to Butterfly Garden. It was shortly after arriving in this section that Zeke noticed Natalie was beginning to look downcast.

"Hey, is something wrong?"

"No. Just thinking."

"About?"

"Well, butterflies. Many people only see a beautiful insect. But they sometimes overlook one of the simple facts of nature. Butterflies pay the price for their beauty, for they only live for a short time, just long enough to leave behind their eggs. It's the same for cherry blossoms, the first blossoms to appear in the spring, but also the first to fall."

"Now I'm depressed," Zeke sighed.

"Don't be. You just have to remember where one thing falls, another grows. When butterflies die, they leave eggs that will eventually become caterpillars. And when the cherry blossoms fall, then soon there will be cherries."

"And you said  _I'm_  profound."

"Sorry. It's the curse of being a poet. Your mind's always in overdrive." The two began to laugh as they continued on. As they walked however, Natalie's foot brushed against an uneven stone and she started to stumble. She scrunched her eyes closed, waiting for the fall, but it never came. Instead, she felt a pair of hands clamp onto her arms. When Natalie opened her eyes, she saw that Zeke had moved into her path to catch her before she fell, and was now looking down at her.

"Thanks, Zeke," Natalie smiled softly.

"Of course," Zeke grinned in return.

It was in that moment that a mutual understanding passed between them. The kiss only lasted for a second before they pulled away, but their lips remained a centimeter apart, as if deciding what to do next. A moment later, they reached a decision. This time, the kiss shared by Zeke and Natalie was long, passionate and perfect.

* * *

**Present Day**

"They fell in love, didn't they?" Mimi guessed with a smile.

"Yes. They did," Nana confirmed. "Zeke made it a religious habit to sneak out almost every night to see Natalie's poetry recitals, after which they would spend hours on end, talking over tea, or walking in the park."

As Nana spoke, she moved to an old picture frame that was hanging on a nearby wall and handed it over to the Bohemians to look at.

"That was taken six months after their one year anniversary. A week later, Zeke decided to make it official with Natalie.  He proposed, and she accepted."

"Emily," Maureen gaped at the picture of Zeke and Natalie. "These are your parents, aren't they? Oh, you look just like your mother."

"Yeah," Emily smiled slightly. "But I inherited my dad's hazel eyes."

"Zeke married Natalie in the early spring," Nana continued. "Only a few people attended. Zeke never told his family, of course. He wisely knew that his father would never tolerate the fact that his son and heir was marrying a woman who was 'beneath him.' And, for a time, Zeke's marriage to Natalie was successfully kept a secret from Max. However," Nana let out a heavy sigh. "Like many things, the secret couldn't remain forever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really hope everything in the flashbacks was historically accurate. Next chapter should be up soon.


End file.
